Calle Stevens wasn’t what one would call a risk-taker.
She was steady. She was even. She was . . .
Pregnant.
Oh God. How was she pregnant? Well, she knew the how part, but that wasn’t the point. Mistakes happened, condoms failed, birth control pills didn’t work, and . . . she was pregnant by a man who’d broken up with her via text and then readily offered to sign away his parental rights when she’d told him she was keeping the baby.
Her life was ruined.
She’d just been hired as an assistant coach for the professional hockey team, the San Francisco Gold. She didn’t have any family in the area, didn’t have a partner. How was she going to have a baby?
But then Cooper.
A star player for the team, he’d found out about the baby and had insisted on coming with her to her first appointment, then had held her hair back when she’d spent the majority of her time christening the porcelain goddess before coming to the second, and then the third, and the fourth and—
In fact, as much as she tried to push him away, he refused to keep his distance. And then when she was having a particularly weak moment, feeling fat and gross and completely unappealing, he held her like she was precious and . . . he kissed her.
Then didn’t stop.
Calle didn’t know what was scarier, the kiss or that she didn’t want him to stop either.
